


A Tale without a Title

by SmellyKelo



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: ATP World Tour Finals, F/M, M/M, Roger/Rafa is implied, emotional hurt/comfort (but not certain about this tag), please forgive the winding plot, too much conversation (my signature by now)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22602208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmellyKelo/pseuds/SmellyKelo
Summary: Rafa wants to meet Daniil in private. He does so, after they are both eliminated from the ATP World Tour Finals 2019. He discovers certain things, realises some others, and thinks a lot. Written from Rafa's point of view.The usual disclaimer: The people are real, the incidents are not (except the matches that have been mentioned).
Relationships: Daniil Medvedev/Rafael Nadal, Rafael Nadal/María Francisca Perello, Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	A Tale without a Title

**Author's Note:**

> The story is set during the time period from Paris Masters 2019 to a little before mid-November 2019. This means that I should have posted this ages ago; however, life, exams and festivals delayed me. Please forgive the delay.
> 
> The title of the fic is the title of a story by Anton Chekhov - I hope he forgives me for using it!
> 
> English is not my first language, so if anyone spots some mistake, please inform me.
> 
> Finally, please give kudos and comments. Thanks a lot, in advance!

Rafa had the misfortune to click – out of politeness and a bit of curiosity – a link that Antonio had sent him. The result is that a few lines are embarrassingly stuck in his head as he tries to locate a certain person amongst the crowd. It is not an easy task by any means, for it seems as if an entire city has pressed into the hall. Which is probably the case, in a way. It is the players’ party for the World Tour Finals, but if only just the players and their families had been here! It would have been a quiet evening, but no. There are ATP officials of various ranks, representatives of the sponsors, the media people, and officials of several related organisations apart from the waiters and security.

Rafa is sitting with Roger’s family, trying to finish the glass of champagne that Roger has forced on him. Roger is joking, Mirka is shaking her head, Mery is laughing, but Rafa is distracted. He just hopes he is laughing at the right places. He feels guilty – Roger is his friend, family friend even, and he has always loved Roger, respected Roger, but today…those stupid lines! No, the lines are beautiful. It is Rafa who is stupid. First the thing with Roger for ages – he never even tried to name it, and then this weird obsession with someone who is so different from Roger – Rafa is surely crazy.

“You won’t believe what I said to this gorgeous lady!” Roger exclaims, indicating Mery. She laughs, and Mirka proclaims, “I would believe the wildest thing!” So Roger launches into how he got Rafa and Mery to sit with them for dinner.

In spite of the crowd Roger had found him. _The man has damn good eyesight!_ He had appeared at their table and addressed Mery. “Would you mind if I steal your husband for a while?” Rafa had hidden his face in his hands. It was not because of what Roger said, but because Roger was trying to be extra jolly, and it broke Rafa’s heart. And he dreaded sitting alone with Roger for some time. He just could not look into those eyes and speak. Unaware of Rafa’s plight, Mery had laughed heartily. “He is all yours. I was thinking of leaving, actually. He would not get bored if he is with you.”

_Please, no!_ Rafa shouted inwardly, but could say nothing. He had not replied to Roger’s message. He has not spoken to Roger since before the wedding. He has not been in physical contact with Roger since September, and even then he had felt like crying. _You bring this upon yourself!_ A part of his mind had shouted at him. _I have done the right thing!_ Rafa had chastised that part of his mind. He had felt so conflicted the week before the wedding. Of course, on the actual day he was calm, he was doing what he knew was correct, and he was happy making the woman who has waited all her life for him happy. In fact, he had for some time forgotten all the complexity of his complicated relation with Roger. However, Roger’s message brought it all back. It was a simple, congratulatory message, but not quite, for there was a postscript: _You are a better person than I am_. Rafa had stared at it, not knowing what to reply, whether to reply at all. _Did Roger expect any reply?_ In the end he had ignored it. And since then he has not spoken to Roger. How could he do that now, in this crowd, as he feels tears so close to the surface of his eyes?

His mind returned to their table at Roger’s voice saying his name. “I know Rafa hates such gatherings, but you -” Roger was saying, but Mery interrupted him. “I hate such gatherings more than _he_ hates them, you know.”

“Well, then -” Roger shrugged and smirked, “I must apologise to you, because I wanted to ask you to come sit with us, too. Mirka specifically told me to invite you.”

“But you wanted him only!” Mery said, pretending to be serious, while Rafa in his mind thanked Mirka with all his heart.

“Well, I -” Roger got flustered. “Well, I did! My mistake! I apologise.”

“Oh! And I thought you were after Rafa only!” Mery could not continue the serious act; she dissolved into laughter.

“He blushes – he blushes – I told you he would blush if you tell the story!” Mirka trills. “I win the bet against you, Roger! Thanks, Rafa.” Mirka pats his arm.

Rafa smiles politely, although he has no idea what the bet was, what he has unwittingly helped Mirka to win. His face is hot, but it has nothing to do with Roger’s story. It is those lines, or to be correct, the fact that the image of the young man had flashed in his mind the first time he heard the song. _Oh, Rafa’s mind is so conflicted!_

It started in early October. It was late afternoon some days before Rafa’s marriage. Antonio had come before lunch, and after the meal he sat with Rafa in the patio, sipping tea and talking and talking about the music of a bunch of Latin American artists in their twenties and thirties, what he called the new Latin American music boom or something. Rafa was trying to tell him that the continent has always had a rich tradition in music. “Chavela Vargas redefined an entire genre! And Omara Portuondo could put to shame any present day diva – she still can! Then Violeta Parra – I don’t know how much more she could have done had she lived longer. I could give you a hundred more names, but -”

“But they all sang in the traditional ways – ballads and rancheras and boleros, while I am talking about pop styles. No, it is not what you think -” Antonio raised a hand, for at the name of ‘pop’ Rafa had shrugged involuntarily. “It is all a mixture of pop and folk and electronic, with local cultures and social commentaries – very different from what you are thinking. Give it a try.”

At that, Rafa had admitted that he liked the work of Javiera Mena, the Chilean singer who has toured Spain quite a few times. “Then you are going to like this man – he is her compatriot, and they have many similarities!” Antonio exclaimed. Rafa had forgotten all about it until late after dinner, when he was turning off the internet connection and saw that he had an unread message from Antonio. The message contained the link to a music video by someone called Alex Anwandter, titled ‘¿Cómo puedes vivir contigo mismo?’ Rafa gave it a try, as Antonio had said. And he was hooked. It was not just the voice, or the tune that would compel anyone to get up and dance (including people like Rafa who did not dance). The video was – colourful and exquisitely made, with a strong message. Half an hour later Rafa still found himself listening to Alex’s songs. He discovered Alex to be deeply political. Not ‘liberal’ like most Western pop artists – not that Rafa had anything against them personally, but Alex’s politics was grounded in _his_ reality – it was raw, powerful, Third World, born from life experiences and a national memory. In fact, his ideology was explicitly displayed in songs like ‘Siempre es viernes en mi corazón’ or ‘Cordillera’ or ‘Latinoamericana’ or ‘Canción del muro’. Antonio was tremendously excited when Rafa told him that he found Alex great. “I have a crush on him,” Antonio declared. He has a crush on someone every year – generally they are people living half a world away, so Rafa did not pay much attention to that. But he has continued to like Alex Anwandter.

He was especially captivated by the love songs. They were - _different_ , for want of a better word. _Nuestras niñas nos dejaron/ Y tú llegas el domingo/ Tanto tiempo/ Tanto tiempo/ Estoy pegado hace rato/ Y mi brazo está morado/ Tanto tiempo/ Tanto tiempo/ No te veo_ … The first time Rafa heard those lines, the image of Daniil Medvedev popped into his head. Daniil, half-dressed, kneeling at Rafa’s feet, head bowed. Daniil who takes an insane amount of sugar in his tea. Daniil who admitted to liking sweet things – ‘Cannot help myself’. Rafa had no idea why he thought of _him_ ; probably because the song is called ‘Rebeldes’, and _he_ is rebellious in his own way. Or perhaps the song is lively, and _he_ is lively once one gets to know him well. Or something else entirely.

Rafa forcibly stops his thoughts. He is at a dinner table with his wife, invited by Roger and Mirka, what on earth is he thinking about! Just to do something else he gulps the remaining champagne and chokes. Mery pats him on the back, Mirka presses a glass of water into his hand, Rafa apologises profusely, and Roger jokes, “Just like you – apologise for nearly dying on us!” Rafa glares at him, and within minutes normal conversation returns.

Or as normal as it can be. For Roger stares at Rafa when he is not looking, and when Rafa catches him Roger turns away his face, but not before Rafa has caught a glimpse of the sadness in his eyes. _Is this what we have become?_ His eyes seem to be asking. _Were we anything at all, to become something else?_ Rafa wishes to say, but no, they are never going to have that conversation. So Rafa lowers his head and concentrates on his food. And his mind dwells on the last time he had had a conversation with Daniil outside a tennis court.

It was at another players’ party. The Paris Masters, to be precise. Roger had withdrawn from the tournament, otherwise they could have met in the semi-final. In a way Rafa was glad for the withdrawal, he was not prepared to meet Roger. Not sports-wise, but regarding the unsolved ‘thing’ between them. He had no idea when he would be prepared. Anyway, whether they wanted to meet or not did not depend on him, or them; they did not make the schedules or the draws.

Rafa had hoped to have a quiet evening, attending the party with Mery, meeting a few people, and leaving early. That was not to happen, however. The moment they entered they were ambushed by Sascha Zverev, who insisted that they sit with his ‘party’. That included Sascha’s parents and his team – it was a loud gathering. The women claimed Mery, and they made her really comfortable, and Sascha claimed Rafa and there went his quiet evening. Sascha congratulated him on his marriage. Rafa congratulated him on reaching the Shanghai final. “Please, I didn’t win!” Sascha whined. “You know who did, you should congratulate _him_ if you wish to congratulate anyone. There he is.” And he pointed to another corner of the room.

Rafa blushed, and inwardly cursed himself. Even Sascha noticed that, and smiled crookedly, but did not comment on it. Rafa resolved not to look in that direction, and busied himself in conversation with others at the table. But what humans want rarely ever come to pass.

Towards the end of dinner there was a lull in the conversation. Sascha was having a whispered argument with his father in Russian; not German, Rafa knew, because although he did not know the language, he could identify German when it was spoken. Rafa made the mistake of looking in the direction that Sascha had pointed earlier and found his gaze locked with Daniil. He was staring intently at Rafa while his wife was in front of him, head bowed, quietly finishing her meal. Rafa blushed, but Daniil seemed unperturbed. His face remained expressionless; he just gave an almost imperceptible nod. Rafa raised an eyebrow. In response, he raised both, which made his face appear thinner. Then he turned back towards his wife, said something to her, and stood up. Rafa watched him as he strode to the door, stopped at the threshold and turned his head slightly towards Rafa, then exited through the door. For a few moments Rafa could not decide. Surely Daniil wanted to talk to him, but could he not come to their table and tell him that? Was that the way to talk to people at a party, and a players’ party at that?

“Rafa, are you here?” Sascha’s voice brought Rafa back to the table.

“Ah - yes, certainly!” Rafa responded, his voice a bit higher than usual. “Need to go to the toilet I think.” Turning towards Sascha’s father he said, “I come back within minutes.”

“Oh no, don’t worry! Take your time!” It was Sasha who said that with a wink, and started to giggle for some reason known only to himself.

Rafa went out through the same door and found himself in the balcony. It was not the way to the lavatories; Rafa hoped Sascha never discovered that. The balcony was quite large, with chairs around, but Daniil was at the farthest side, standing very straight with his back to the wall. “Nice to see you after so long,” he said as Rafa approached him.

Rafa stopped a few feet in front of him. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” he replied, moving his left hand around.

“Congratulations on winning Shanghai. Was a great match. I see you are inspired to reach your valley.” Rafa remembered that song.

“Thank you,” Daniil smiled, showing teeth. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

_How very proper!_ Rafa could be proper too. “Thank you very much.”

“How is the arm?” Daniil raised his left arm as he asked the question, and tapped the wrist with the index finger of his right hand.

“I can play.” Rafa shrugged, non-committal.

The warmth vanished from Daniil’s face. “You know, you need not be so – formal – with me,” he uttered stiffly. “And I am generally not extremely happy if someone is injured. I am not that kind of man.”

Rafa had the response ready. “People say I make understatements.” A lot of people say that, including Roger, but it was Andy Murray who had taught him the word. _By ‘a little pain’ if you mean you can’t walk, then it’s an understatement._

Daniil nodded, and peeled himself away from the wall. “Sure,” he muttered coldly, his lips pressed in a thin line. “See you around. Good night.” He started walking away towards the door.

“Daniil!” Rafa called out, his voice cracking on the second syllable. The coldness of the voice had hurt.

Daniil turned half his body towards Rafa. “What?”

“Please don’t think I wanted to offend you or - whatever. I never think you are like – like that – I mean, I don’t think you enjoy if other people have injuries. Verdad.” Rafa hoped he believed him. Really, that was the last thing he would think himself.

Daniil smiled again, and shook his head. “It’s okay. Nice seeing you back.”

“What you doing after this – the dinner?” The words tumbled out of Rafa’s mouth before he could stop himself.

Daniil tilted his head to one side and looked at him sideways. “Is that an invitation?” There was a suppressed laugh in his voice.

“Ah, I -” Rafa did not know what to say. He was not thinking at all when he said that. It was not even him – his mind was playing some stupid trick on him.

“Well,” he raised his head and locked eyes with Rafa. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I am leaving soon. Going back to the hotel to sleep – tournament starts tomorrow.”

“They give the schedule tomorrow,” responded Rafa. “You no need sleep for the schedule, no?”

“No.” Daniil prolonged the ‘o’ as a slight smile appeared on his lips. “But matches start the day after.”

“Not for you,” Rafa said at once. He did not want to say that, but he could not seem to stop himself. “You are a top seed; you get first round bye.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Daniil uttered softly. “Still sorry. Early practice tomorrow. Feeling a bit out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts?” Rafa’s English is not the best, and when it comes to idioms and phrases he is lost.

Daniil did not seem to comprehend his problem. “Yes, out of sorts, but nothing to worry. Anyway, thanks for talking to me. It was great,” he extended both arms towards Rafa, “but I must take my leave now.”

He turned back and resumed walking towards the door, but after a few paces he turned around smoothly and slightly squeezed his lips in a kiss. Then he turned towards the door again and walked away, without looking back. Rafa remained in the balcony, leaning on the railing, looking down at the street. He returned to the room twenty minutes later.

“You took your time,” Sascha said pointedly. Rafa wanted to swear. Instead, he apologised to Sascha’s father for being away so long. By that time Daniil was gone along with his wife.

Rafa did not get another opportunity to find Daniil on his own during the tournament. He had lost his first match a day before Rafa’s first match was scheduled, and had left the city. He did send a short message wishing Rafa luck, but did not communicate after that. Rafa’s own body betrayed him before the semi-final, and he was not willing to take any risk, so he withdrew and went home.

The crowd in the middle of the room thins somewhat, and Rafa spots him immediately, in conversation with his wife, who is shaking her head. Daniil seems to be explaining something patiently to her, and then puts something on her plate, and squeezes her shoulder in a soothing gesture. She resumes eating, and he leans back in his chair and suddenly turns his head towards Rafa. Their eyes meet. Rafa blushes, being caught staring. _Why does he always get caught staring at the guy!_ But this time Daniil does not smile or raise his eyebrows or do anything else he did the last time. He only mouths ‘good evening’, then turns his head away and starts chatting with his wife. Rafa cannot understand what all that means. Also, at that moment Roger starts talking about the Players’ Council, and Rafa has to attend to that; his mind cannot dwell on Daniil’s gestures.

On the days leading up to the round robin matches it seems to Rafa that Daniil takes precautions to avoid finding himself alone with Rafa. Not that he pointedly avoids him. He is cordial, and his manners are perfect; he says and does all that is expected of him, but only that. He poses for the photos, and does all the PR-related things, but he seems distant in an infuriatingly gentlemanly manner. He smiles at Rafa from across the room, or wishes Rafa a good afternoon or a good evening when they met in the gym, yet whenever there is any possibility that they might be the only two people in a room, Daniil seems to be always leaving, always saying ‘See you. Have a good day.’ Of course it is the round robins of the Finals; a number of matches take place every day, and there is always a lot of people around. May be Rafa is imagining things. But then, it was Daniil who had called him outside during dinner at the Paris players’ party to talk to him – called him not in any normal, acceptable way, but using his eyes! And he had to say what he wanted to say - in a deserted balcony! A conversation that could take place at a dinner table! What is Daniil’s problem? _Maybe the problem is yours_ , Rafa’s mind supplies him. He ignores that. Anyway, soon he has bigger problems – despite winning two of his three matches he is eliminated from the tournament in the first round, again. Also, Daniil loses all of his matches – his performance is horrible, except the one match he plays against Rafa. It seems as if he gets exceptionally inspired whenever he is playing against Rafa. Still, it means that they are both eliminated in the first round, and Rafa decides to get Daniil on his own this time. Once and for all, Daniil would have to say what he wants.

*********

Rafa sees Daniil entering the hallway. He is looking at the floor, his face thoughtful. He does not see Rafa where he should not be, which is the reception of the hotel where Daniil is staying. What Rafa is doing is really dramatic, a simple message inviting him to dinner would have been alright, but then Daniil might have ignored it. This way is more certain, at least Rafa can be sure the message has reached the intended. As Daniil walks into the reception Rafa takes his chance. He gets up from the sofa, crosses the room and reaches the corridor. As Daniil is crossing him Rafa surprises him by taking hold of his arm. Daniil tenses and stops at once and gives Rafa a strained smile, and his eyes are questioning. Rafa takes out the piece of paper from his pocket and pushes it into Daniil’s palm. “Come to dinner tomorrow evening.” He does not give Daniil any chance to reply; he hurries out of the hotel.

By the time evening arrives Rafa is in two minds. Once he thinks of calling Daniil and cancelling the whole thing. Then he sees that it is a bit too late for that. Also, his entire family departed in the morning. He had told them about an event organised by some local association. Maribel had offered to stay, and everyone else was of the same mind as her, but Rafa managed to convince them that they would be bored. In fact, he himself would not have stayed had it been not a commitment. There _was_ such an event, but it was in the afternoon. By six in the evening he is back to the rented house and preparing dinner in the kitchen, with one ear trained on the doorbell. He is anticipating, but he has no idea whether Daniil will come. He has not sent Rafa any reply, nor contacted him in any other way since their encounter in the hotel reception. Rafa does not even know if he is still in the city.

To calm down his mind he starts the playlist of Alex Anwandter’s songs that Antonio has made on his phone. The music does take his mind off the invitation trouble, and he can concentrate on cooking. The music remains on the background of his mind, with some words occasionally breaking through his concentration.

_Eso es una tormenta/ Eso fuiste tú/ Si creo que hay distancia/ Me cuesta distinguir/ Quiero saber si ves/ Quiero saber si ves/ Si me puedes ver venir_ …

The bell rings. Rafa looks at the clock. It is more than half an hour past eight. _So, he has come!_ Rafa has finished cooking some time ago. The soup needs to be kept covered for some time, so Rafa has kept it as it is, and has changed to be fit to receive a guest. He takes his time to go to the door and open it – no good appearing desperate. Daniil is standing on the lowest step, wearing a long black cloak, with a black scarf wrapped around his head that makes his face look paler. “Good evening”, he says in a low voice as Rafa ushers him in.

“We have to go upstairs,” Rafa tells his guest. They had rented only the upper floor for the week; the house is huge and they did not need two floors. This morning Rafa had called the owner and extended his stay for another day.

Once in the drawing room, Daniil takes off the cloak and the scarf, and Rafa finds that he is wearing dark blue jeans and a white shirt paired with a dark blue fitted cardigan. _It is like the uniform of a child going to school_. Rafa stares. _Get a grip on yourself! May be he just likes the colour combination_.

“This is for you.” Daniil hands him a small flat tin box.

“What is this?” Rafa asks.

“Some dry fruits,” Daniil replies. “You are not supposed to go empty-handed to someone’s house, but I don’t know what you like – what I can bring, so -” Daniil speaks so fast that the words stumble over one another.

“Is okay,” Rafa tries to assure him. “Not was expecting any gift, so is better than okay.” He smiles. “Come and sit in the kitchen. Is time for dinner.”

Daniil enters the kitchen behind Rafa and sits at the dining table. “Sorry for being late.”

“No problem.” Rafa waves away the apology.

“Also, for not replying,” Daniil continues. “I wanted to congratulate you in person. I would have -”

“Congratulate – for what?” Rafa stops him.

“For becoming the number one.” Daniil raises his eyebrows. “Five non-consecutive years, and the oldest -”

“I know the records, Daniil.” Rafa stands up. “You want something to drink?”

“A glass of water would be nice,” Daniil replies. Rafa is a bit taken aback; it is a cold night and he had expected Daniil to ask for some wine, or may be tea because he likes it, but whatever. He brings him water in a wine glass. A small, crooked smile appears on Daniil’s face, but he says nothing.

“I thought you would want tea,” Rafa ventures.

“You thought correct,” Daniil replies. “But don’t want to bother you; you are cooking -”

“Cooking finished,” Rafa interrupts him. “If you want tea, I can -”

Daniil raises a hand. “Please don’t. We can have tea after dinner. I will make it.”

When Rafa brings the plates and bowls to the table Daniil is doing something on his phone. He looks up and says, “You need some help?”

“Oh, no, nothing,” Rafa replies. “You sit where you are sitting.”

“I could help, you know,” Daniil says in response. “I am not that bad in the kitchen.”

“You are my guest,” Rafa says. “You have to listen to me, no?”

Daniil shrugs and returns to his phone.

“So, what you doing? Twitter? Facebook? Instagram?” Rafa asks Daniil as he places the bowl of soup in front of him.

“Oh, yes, I was doing this Instagram story about how I find myself alone with Rafael Nadal in his rented house and he is feeding me!” Daniil utters in a singsong voice as he puts the phone down on the table.

Rafa’s eyes widen in horror, and Daniil takes pity on him. “Ah, don’t be so terrified! I was joking.” He shows him the screen. It looks like some online magazine or news website, in Russian. Rafa exhales in relief.

“I know you are of the opinion that young people these days live online,” Daniil deadpans. “And you think that is unhealthy. You are the host; why would I do anything that you disapprove? Must listen to you, right?”

“Is unhealthy, is true…Wait – how – what you talking about?” Rafa suddenly realises Daniil has quoted him verbatim about young people being online too much, and it was not something he had told the press; actually it was a personal opinion expressed to – “You were gossiping with Sascha Zverev?”

Daniil smiles like a child who has been caught flouting some rule and then pretends not to know the rule existed in the first place. “We were not _gossiping_ ,” he says, prolonging the ‘i’s as he stresses ‘gossiping’. “He talked about you, I listened.”

Rafa remembers how that conversation with Sascha occurred. They were in Geneva, Sascha was – well, gossiping, and unfortunately it involved one of their Laver Cup teammates - how he had blocked Daniil on Instagram, and how it had become a big deal. By that point Rafa was exasperated and told him it was all very childish. “What else did you talk about?”

“Ah, now he is interested!” Daniil says dramatically, like an aside in an actual play. “A lot of things - the weather, our schedules, the Players’ Council…and other stuff, but can’t give you details, those are personal.” Daniil gives Rafa a sideways glance, and Rafa’s neck starts getting hot. _Of course he had to say that! Of course!_

“Okay, actually I was reading.” Daniil changes the conversation. “A piece on how economic sanctions against a country are deadly, but ineffective if you are trying regime change.”

“Ineffective?” Rafa muses. He is glad for the change of topic, and it is interesting also. “I not know – but sanctions overturned – not know if this is the correct word – the government in Chile, the year 1973.” He is thinking of Alex Anwandter.

“Only sanctions could not have done it, you know,” Daniil replies, pouring soup on his rice. “Sanctions would weaken the economy, destroy it even if the economy is weak to begin with, and people would be angry and frustrated when prices skyrocket and you cannot get necessary things, but you have to interfere, either by yourself or by proxy, and bomb and kill if you want to overthrow a government. Exactly what happened in Chile. And a lot of other places. Happening now too.”

_Overthrow!_ That is the word. Rafa will remember it. “Seems like you know a lot of modern history,” Rafa says appreciatively.

“Just interested in stuff.” Daniil smiles shyly. “The soup smells good, what is it made of?” He changes the conversation again, and Rafa knows there would be no discussion of geopolitics at the dinner table.

“You want ice cream?” Rafa asks at the end of the meal.

“No,” Daniil replies, and drinks some water. He has refused wine.

“No?” Rafa says. “But you said you like sweet things.” Rafa has some nice chocolate ice cream in the fridge.

“Sweet things, yes. But not milk,” Daniil responds. Rafa notices that he has prolonged the ‘i’ in ‘milk’. In fact, he prolongs his vowels a lot, which gives a lilt to his voice.

“So what you want?” Rafa asks. He would have the ice cream himself tomorrow morning, before he has to leave for the airport.

“I will make tea,” Daniil declares. “For you too. If you want that is.”

“You need a samovar to boil water?” Rafa cannot let go of the opportunity, the joke was just there.

“Now you are trolling me.” Daniil raises his left arm and points a stern finger at Rafa. Then he starts giggling.

_Trolling?_ Rafa is right, young people these days do spend an unhealthy amount of time on the internet. Still he is relieved, at least he has not been accused of stereotyping, or worse, racism.

“For your information,” Daniil continues as he puts the kettle on boil, “Those things are electrical these days. Just like your oven or your dishwasher. Well, you can use the traditional ones if you wish, but they cost more, and require more time and patience. Stuff that young people these days sorely lack,” he deadpans.

Rafa wonders where all this is going. They have had a very domestic evening, with a quiet dinner and nice dinner table conversation. They are having a nice banter now. Not quite what Rafa had expected, but then he does not know what he had expected. If Daniil leaves after tea, then Rafa might be a bit disappointed, but not unhappy. In fact that might be better, that way they would both be keeping their promises. They have not done anything that they should not be doing, yet.

“Where is sugar?” Daniil’s voice brings Rafa back to the kitchen, and he discovers that he has been standing in front of the dishwasher, holding a plate and staring at the appliance.

“In that cupboard,” Rafa points. “A box of sugar cubes, I saw.” He turns away and puts the plate in the dishwasher.

“How much sugar do you take with tea?” Rafa realises Daniil is asking him.

“I not – one cube is fine,” Rafa replies.

Daniil adds one cube to one cup and three to the other and then turns towards him again. “You have honey?”

“A glass container – in the cupboard. But please, I no want it.” Rafa adds.

“No, no,” Daniil smiles, shaking his head. “It is for me.”

He takes out the honey, and then gives a whoop of joy as he spots another container. “Strawberry jam! Give me a spoon. No – I need a teaspoon,” he says, waving away the tablespoon Rafa offered him.

“Don’t know why strawberry jam is here!” Rafa exclaims. “Who eats it!”

“I eat!” Daniil says dreamily as his dips the spoon in the jam and brings it to his mouth. His eyes are closed, and he licks the jam from the spoon with a smile on his face. Rafa stares at him, specifically at his tongue. Then he suddenly opens his eyes, and Rafa blushes. To cover his embarrassment he says quickly, “You take the jam with you.”

“What?” Daniil asks, lowering the spoon.

“You take the jam – the whole bottle – when you go,” Rafa repeats. “I don’t like strawberry jam. The sugar cubes also. You love them.”

“Okay, thank you,” Daniil smiles. He dips the spoon in the jam again, then puts it in his cup and stirs.

Just looking at it, Rafa gags. He had not expected the jam to go into the tea. “Por favor, you not going to drink that!” He exclaims.

“Then why am I making it?” Daniil smiles sweetly. He raises the cup to his mouth and licks the surface of the tea with the tip of his tongue. “Perfect!” He points at the other cup. “This is yours.”

They return to the dinner table.

“You always drink tea like this? With so much sweet?” Rafa asks.

“When I can, yes,” Daniil replies. “You can also have tea with fruits. It is sort of tradition. Actually, we come from a cold place…sugar and other sweet stuff keep you warm in cold. Then you know of course, in many places people drink tea with milk – a different sort of tradition. Food habits are interesting, really. Or you can have tea without anything – may be you do that?”

“I feel too much sweetness -” what is the English for –? “hides the taste of tea.” Rafa replies.

“People have different tastes,” Daniil comments mildly, then takes up his cup and concentrates on finishing his tea. Rafa looks at his fingers, his mind wondering about tea traditions.

“You know, at first I thought this was a family invitation,” Daniil says suddenly, placing the cup on the table and blowing on the remainder of the tea. He is doing it absentmindedly, Rafa is sure, for the tea is not hot anymore, and the kitchen is not very warm either. “I almost asked my wife to accompany me.”

“Why didn’t you?” Rafa asks, though inwardly he is glad that he had not brought his wife here. What would she have thought to discover Rafa alone in the house!

“Then I remembered the manner of your invitation.” Daniil continues as if he has not been interrupted. “And I realised I would find you alone.” He looks up from his tea. “Seems I was right.”

“I thought you not – did not – want to be alone with me.” Rafa holds Daniil’s gaze. “You avoided me the whole week.”

“I did not _avoid_ you!” Daniil exclaims. “I could not, could I, having to play against you? Seriously, what did you expect me to do?”

Rafa does not answer that. Instead he continues with his original thoughts, “I thought you did not like me anymore.”

Daniil slips the index finger of his right hand between his teeth and bites on the nail. Then he drops his arm on the table. “What makes you think I liked you at all?”

“You need proof?” Rafa points to Daniil with his right hand. “You are here.”

“Perhaps I was just curious.” Daniil says, his gaze fixed on the surface of the table.

“Curious why I invite you?” Rafa remarks, knowing he is almost in dangerous territory now.

“I’m sure you will tell me,” Daniil responds mildly, and drains his cup.

“I told them to return home.” Rafa does not know why he is saying that. “Told them I had an event here.”

“Did you?” Daniil asks. “Have an event.” He adds when Rafa looks confused.

“Yes, this afternoon,” he replies.

“Good for you, then.” Daniil finishes his tea.

“Your family – they still here? In the city?” Rafa asks cautiously.

“Only Daria is here, yes.” Daniil leaves it at that.

“What you told her?” Rafa knows this much curiosity can never do anyone any good, but he has to ask.

“Not the truth.” Daniil suddenly raises his head, and his eyes are hard. “You won’t believe what I said! Lord, I called my mother and lied to my her! I lied to my wife! I already feel bad. Do _you_ have to ask me too?” He stands up suddenly and rushes out of the kitchen.

Rafa is stunned for a moment, then gets up slowly. He finds the young man in the balcony. It is cold outside, and a wind is rising. Daniil is leaning on the railing with his back towards Rafa.

Rafa goes to stand beside him. He rests his elbows on the railing, mirroring the pose of the man beside him who is staring into the horizon. The street below is well-lit, but almost deserted. It is not very late, but this is a by-lane, and the weather is cold. Rafa stares at the empty street, his mind a chaos of thoughts which are interrupted suddenly by high-pitched feminine laughter, followed by a young woman running into the street from around the corner. Within moments a laughing young man comes into view. The woman turns around to embrace him, and they start kissing. Rafa feels uncomfortable. He turns his head slightly towards Daniil and finds him looking at the scene below.

“Daniil!” Rafa calls softly. No response.

“Daniil!” Rafa calls again, louder this time. Still nothing. “Mira a mí!”

Daniil turns around at the Spanish words. His face is in shadows, so it is impossible to identify his expression. “What?”

“Look, if you wish to leave, you can leave.” Rafa tries to keep his voice expressionless. “I not mind – I understand. Was wrong to -”

His rambling is cut short as Daniil leans towards Rafa and places his right hand at the back of Rafa’s head and pulls him towards himself. He has a few inches on Rafa which comes to his advantage as he kisses Rafa hard. It is so forceful that Rafa staggers and has to grab Daniil’s waist to keep his balance.

“You want this, don’t you?” He pulls away and asks in a broken voice, his fingers grasping the hair at the nape of Rafa’s neck, the hold bordering on painful.

“No,” Rafa replies in a strong voice.

“No?” Daniil echoes, as a question. He releases Rafa and takes a step back.

“No,” Rafa repeats. “I not – don’t – want you to kiss me because you are angry. I want you to kiss me because you want to kiss me.”

“I want -” Daniil’s voice trails away and he drops to his knees.

“What you doing!” Rafa panics. They are outside, the street is quite well-lit, anyone looking up can see them. But Daniil just takes Rafa’s left hand in his right hand, and kisses each of the fingers. Then he buries his face in the hand. Desire flares deep in Rafa’s abdomen as he feels lips and nose and eyelashes on his palm. He threads the fingers of his right hand through Daniil’s hair. “Get up, please. We go inside.” He cannot recognise his own voice.

Daniil looks up at him. His face is wet with tears. And something beside lust wells up in Rafa’s heart – tenderness, and a desire to protect. “No llores, cariño. Is cold here. Inside is warm. Come with me.”

Daniil stands up without another word. Rafa pushes open the door and steps into the corridor, ushering Daniil in, and it is so dark – _did he forget to switch on the lights in the corridor?_ But Rafa has no time to think about it because the moment the door shuts behind them Daniil all but falls on him, with his arms around his shoulders. It is a few moments before Rafa realises that Daniil is crying. Not a sound escapes his lips, his body does not shake, the only evidence of his anguish is the wetness at Rafa’s shoulder.

Rafa curses himself in his mind. “I am sorry, Daniil.” He pats the young man’s back. “So sorry. Was wrong to call you here. Look, I take you to your hotel, and we forget all this, okay? Please don’t cry. Please.”

Daniil steps away and leans against the door. He slides a little so that Rafa finds himself looking down into his eyes and not up as he is used to. Daniil closes his eyes, clearly trying to compose himself, while Rafa looks to his right, and freezes. They are not in the corridor as he had assumed, but in a bedroom. The balcony has two doors – one opening in the corridor and the other opening in one of the bedrooms. Rafa had mistakenly opened the other door. He wishes to smack his head. He should apologise, right now.

Rafa looks back at Daniil who is staring intently at him, and he forgets what he wanted to say, for Daniil curls an arm around Rafa’s waist, and takes Rafa’s left hand in his right and intertwines the fingers. He says something – his voice is pleading, but Rafa does not understand, it is probably Russian. So he asks, “What?”

“Kiss me,” Daniil whispers.

Rafa does not hesitate. He kisses Daniil gently, whose lips fall open, giving Rafa access. Rafa drags his tongue across the roof of his mouth, fighting the urge to gag from the overwhelming sweetness. In all probability he would never be able to look at sugar or honey or strawberry jam without being reminded of this moment. Daniil has pulled him so close that Rafa is sure he is somewhat crushing him against the door, and one of his hands is underneath Rafa’s shirt, cold fingertips caressing Rafa’s spine. Heat pools in his abdomen, he cannot bear it…He bites lightly on Daniil’s lower lip; Daniil moans at that, and Rafa finds himself hard, pressing against Daniil’s thigh. He becomes suddenly, oddly embarrassed, and tries to pull away –

“Don’t leave!” Daniil cries out. His eyes are bright, his lips are wet, his left hand is clutching the back of Rafa’s shirt.

“You want this?” Rafa asks hoarsely.

“I want -” Daniil does not finish the sentence. Instead he stands up straighter, leaving the support of the door, and pushes against Rafa’s hip. And Rafa can feel him despite all their clothes. Before Rafa can think anything about it, Daniil tilts his face upward and starts trailing kisses down his throat.

The heat between them is too great for Rafa to bear anymore, and he pulls Daniil with him towards the middle of the room. He pushes Daniil on to the bed and falls on him, tangled in long limbs. Then he sits up, straddling Daniil, and removes his sweater and t-shirt over his head in one move. Goosebumps rise on his arms, but that is not due to cold; the thermostat is on all right. It is just that he cannot believe this moment is happening in reality.

Underneath him Daniil is now in a half sitting half reclining position, struggling with the buttons of his shirt. His hands are shaking so much that he cannot undo a single button. Rafa leans forward. “Let me.”

“Don’t tear them off, I have to return,” Daniil whispers. The warning was unnecessary, Rafa never tears anything. The shirt ends up somewhere on the floor. Then Rafa touches the waistband of his jeans, asking permission, and in response Daniil lies down, eyes closed. With his hands splayed on Daniil’s hips Rafa can feel the pulse at his hipbones, and he had never imagined this could make him crazy. He dips his head and kisses that point, and Daniil squirms and calls out his name. “Rafael!”

“Sí?” Rafa crawls up so that he is facing Daniil, whose eyes are wide.

“Wait.” He says, struggling to sit up.

“What?” Rafa cannot understand why he wants to sit now. He tries to reassure him. “See – you have to relax, I not going to hurt you or -”

“I know, I am not a child!” Daniil hisses through his teeth. He splays a hand on Rafa’s chest to hold him and half sits up. With his other hand he removes the chains from his neck and drops them on the nightstand. “Were in the way. Could hurt. Now come here.” He lies down again and pulls Rafa down on top of him. Rafa buries his head in the crook of Daniil’s neck, and Daniil wraps his legs around Rafa’s thighs. Only then Rafa realises that Daniil has forgotten to take off his socks.

When Rafa wakes it seems as if he has been asleep only a few minutes, and it is still dark outside, but he finds Daniil already awake. He is sitting with his back against the headboard, his knees drawn close to his chest, with his phone on his knees, reading. Rafa can only see one side of his face, but even in the relative darkness – the only light being the brightness of the screen - he catches the look of extreme concentration on the face. He is wearing only his chains, and the blanket is covering just his feet.

“You no – not – feel cold?” Rafa asks, himself shivering.

“I hail from a cold place,” Daniil replies, without taking his eyes off the screen.

“What you find so interesting?” Rafa asks again, looking at the frowning face.

“Um?” Daniil responds, still not looking up.

“Your face – concentrate so much -” Rafa knows that his words are not making sense, but he always forgets all the English he has ever learnt just after waking.

“I am reading,” Daniil replies.

_Why is he so infuriating!_ Rafa cannot keep the impatience out of his voice as he says, a little too louder than necessary, “What are you reading?”

Without another word Daniil raises his head and passes Rafa the phone. Rafa takes a look at the screen and groans. It is something in Russian. “No sé – I not know the language!” He is exasperated. _What is it with the man? He was so much nicer last night! What can explain his behaviour this morning!_

The anger probably shows on Rafa’s face, because Daniil squeaks “Sorry! Sorry!” and strikes his forehead with his hand. “Where are my manners?” He squeezes Rafa’s hand. “I am sleep-deprived, but that is no excuse for my behaviour. Forgive my lack of manners, Rafael.”

Rafa is so amazed at the use of his full name that he cannot speak for a few moments. Only his family and close friends call him by his full name, and he and Daniil do not even know each other that well. Also, his behaviour and temperament – they are so different from last night that it is quite impossible to believe that it is the same person. _Does he regret this? Is that why he is being – less warm?_ He cannot help asking. “You are sorry?”

Daniil looks at him sideways, with a frown on his face. “About?”

“Te arrepientes – oh – you regret – you and I -?”

Daniil interrupts his ramble. “Relax.” His frown disappears, and a small smile appears on his mouth. “Why worry so much? We are all going to die.”

_Of course! Of course he had to bring up death!_ No need repeating or rephrasing the question; he is never going to give a direct answer. Rafa turns away. He is angry, he has to control it.

After some moments a warm hand touches Rafa’s shoulder. “I am sorry,” says a small voice from above his head. Then a light kiss is pressed to his cheek. “It was a difficult question. But I don’t regret anything. No.”

In all probability that is not all of the answer, and Rafa knows that Daniil would never let him into his thoughts. He would only give what he wishes. And that is alright, really. It was a difficult question after all. It was Rafa who had said two months ago that what had happened that evening was never going to happen again, and look where they are now. It is impossible to analyse everything at this moment. Perhaps never.

Rafa sits up. “There is a song that reminds me of you.”

“Your turn to sing me a song?” Daniil’s eyes sparkle as he smiles.

“You not sing. And I not – don’t sing neither.” Rafa replies. “Also you should smile more. You look nice when you smile.”

“A ha!” Daniil’s smile is broader. “You are the font of compliments tonight. What happened?”

You loved me, Rafa wants to say. But that is not something that could be said. Instead he deadpans, “I always say nice things to people.” Daniil pouts. Rafa finds out the song on his phone and hands it to Daniil.

“I don’t have my headphones with me,” Daniil says. “Yours are here?”

“I think in my bag – but it is in – I mean the bag is not here -”

“No problem.” Daniil holds the phone to his ear.

“You know what it say?” Rafa asks as Daniil has finished listening.

Daniil hesitates. “It is Spanish – and the accent I am not familiar – but if I concentrate hard enough I can get the broad meaning…It says two persons are never same, still you want to be with someone, yes? Broadly that, right?”

“You really understand good – sometimes I have fear that you understand what I say when I speak in my language, when I not want you to understand -”

“No!” Daniil shakes his head and smiles. “No fear, please! I only know French, not Spanish. No way I can understand when someone says a lot of words in Spanish – and you people all speak so fast! French I will understand.”

“French is a completely different – thing!” Rafa raises a hand. “So difficult to learn – and not know what to pronounce and what not -”

“Not so difficult if you learn from childhood.” Daniil laughs out. “What are we doing, discussing languages?” Then he turns serious. “I understand why that song. But we are not the two persons, you know.”

“I know.” Rafa becomes serious too. “I not say we are. The song not says that neither. Was only a wish that never become reality.” And saying this Rafa realises why the song reminded him of Daniil in the first place.

“I have to leave now.” Daniil gets down from the bed and starts gathering his clothes.

“Now?” It is quite dark outside. Rafa can see some stars from the open window… _Why is the window open?_ He remembers it was closed last night. “Daniil, you open window?”

“Only one.” Daniil turns around, pulling on his jeans. “Was feeling suffocated, so I opened a window and switched off the thermostat – I hope you don’t mind?” Daniil does not meet Rafa’s eye, and his voice is shriller than usual. He finishes dressing, and turns towards Rafa. “You will see me out?”

He does not say another word, nor touch Rafa again until they are at the front door, where he hugs Rafa, burying his face in his shoulder. “Thanks for tolerating me.” Then he steps back. “Eternity is overrated, anyway. Who know it better than us – we who are in sports? Everything leaves.”

Suddenly tears sting Rafa’s eyes. _Don’t cry now! Just don’t cry!_ He bites his lip, hard. “Be happy in whatever you do, Daniil.”

In response Daniil squeezes Rafa’s shoulder, the same gesture he had for his wife a few days ago. Then he is gone.

Rafa glances at the clock on the wall of the bedroom. It is 2:15 in the morning, or rather, midnight. No wonder it is so dark. Rafa stands at the open window and receives a blast of cold air on his face, which makes him realise why Daniil might have actually opened the window. He wanted to leave as early as possible, but did not want to shake Rafa awake or call him to get up, so he opened the window, knowing that the cold of London winter would definitely do the job. Goodness knows what he told his wife!

Rafa closes the window and sits down on the bed. He does not feel sleepy any more. There are stirrings of regret deep in his heart. What was the need of all this? What has he achieved? Daniil did not say anything that Rafa did not know, which is - nothing. What is worse, Rafa cannot remember what he originally wanted to know. _What were they doing? What they wanted to do in future?_ Is knowing all that really necessary?

And what about Mery? Like Daniil, Rafa too had lied to his wife. Mery, who has been his constant companion for ages. Mery, who has been with him through his troubles and depressions, his triumphs and losses, his highs and lows – through thick and thin. She does not deserve this. Or, he does not deserve her.

_It is not a crime, loving more than one person at the same time. It is entirely natural._ That was what Feliciano had told him once. But Feliciano is no role model in matters of romantic relationships. Absentmindedly Rafa takes up his phone from the middle of the bed where Daniil had left it, and starts the playlist where he had stopped it last evening when Daniil had arrived.

_El pulso de tu corazón se acelera/ El ritmo que llevabamos terminó/ Te voy a echar de menos desde lejos/ Encuentro que no está la decisión/ El pulso de tu corazón se acelera/ El ritmo que llevabamos terminó/ Tu labio tiembla cuando me acerco/ Y tú nunca me dices que no que no que no no no no no…_

Rafa stops the song. He would not be able to bear the outro – the song has one of the most heartbreaking outros that he has ever heard. _Why did he not say no? Why did Daniil never say no?_ Who knows what the heart wants?

_It is all too much_. Rafa stands up. _Nobody might know what the heart wants, but the brain can decide on its own_. Rafa had promised it would not happen again. Well, it would not happen again. He would wash off the night, and forget the distraction. Yes, it has been a massive distraction, but a distraction nonetheless.

The cold shower feels nice on his body. At first the water stings his skin a bit - it is winter after all, though after a few minutes his muscles relax. But the doubts remain. Does washing the night off from his skin mean he can wash the night off his mind? What about his conscience? Not my conscience, he thinks. Daniil started it. _But he did not invite you to dinner, did he?_ Why did he return to the locker room to talk to Rafa two months ago? “Against whom am I defending myself?” Rafa wonders aloud.

He tidies up the room and gets ready listening to ‘Que se acabe el mundo por favor’ on loop. It is the perfect song for the moment – end of a tale, end of a world.

*********

Rafa and Mery reach the Porto Cristo house at about six in the evening. They both gasp. The entire house has been decorated with lights, including the deck. Some people are relaxing with drinks in the patio.

“She said a ‘quiet, little dinner’?” Mery asks incredulously.

“Well, it is Maribel, what do you expect!” Rafa exclaims, equally overwhelmed. “She transforms everything into something huge! Let us enter and find her.”

Inside it is anything but quiet and little, because for Maribel quiet and little means loud and huge. Two days ago she had sent Rafa a message, inviting him to a ‘quiet, little party’ she would be throwing in the Porto Cristo house – in her words - ‘in honour of my dear brother and his wonderful wife; consider it as an early Christmas gift’. ‘Christmas gift’ in early November – just like Maribel! Rafa had assumed it would be just their mother and a few friends. Well, he was wrong.

The moment they enter the hall Miguel jumps down from the table at the centre and runs towards them. He hugs Mery and exclaims, “Congratulations on finally getting married!”

“How many times would you congratulate us?” Rafa asks him, laughing.

Miguel winks. “I am congratulating _her_ , not you.”

“And how many times would you do that?” Rafa asks.

“As many times as I wish.” Miguel sticks out his tongue.

They find Maribel in the kitchen, barefoot, her hair wild, presiding over the finishing touches to dinner. “Oh, you have arrived!” She exclaims breathlessly as she spots them. “Good, I need helping hands. Brother, you go and look after the tables – ask the guys to help. Xisca, I need your opinion on -”

“You never told me how many people to expect!” Rafa interrupts his sister.

“Not my fault that you have so many friends,” she responds cheekily.

“They are your friends too,” Rafa shoots back.

Maribel shrugs. “This is a small island.”

“Where is mother?” Rafa grabs Maribel’s arm before she can turn away. “What does she say?”

“She is at Toni’s place. Said I was giving her headaches. Don’t look at me like that -” Maribel pouts. “I am sending food to all of them. Now you go and do what I asked you to do.” She turns her back to Rafa and starts whispering to Mery. Rafa has to go to see to the arrangement of the tables.

Dinner is a huge matter too, as expected, and runs well into midnight.

“And now we will dance,” declares Maribel after everyone has assembled with drinks and desserts in the drawing room after dinner.

“Oh no!” Rafa groans. But his voice is drowned by everybody around agreeing with Maribel, exclaiming ‘of course’ and ‘definitely’, while some busy themselves with moving the tables and chairs and sofas to clear some space on the floor, and setting up the music system.

_Si tú me ves  
Como yo te veo antes  
Visión en oro  
Y en tus ojos sueños grandes…_

Of course it is Alex Anwandter, and of course it is Antonio in charge of the music. Tomeu warns him to not play any dark, depressing song. Everybody is aware of his fascination with depressing songs. “Certainly not! This is a happy evening, I know!” Antonio assures him.

“Brother, you have to dance to this!” Maribel exclaims.

“I do not have to do anything,” Rafa refuses flatly.

Maribel turns to Mery. “Please.”

Mery gets up from her chair and comes to stand in from of Rafa, smiling at him expectantly. Their friends start clapping and chanting “Dance! Dance! Dance!”

_Tú para mí  
Eres como una estrella  
Tú para mí  
Brillas como una estrella…._

Maribel turns around and whispers in Rafa’s ear, “You will dance, or I am going to smash your toes with my heels.” She stretches her left leg threateningly.

“You are evil!” Rafa whispers in her ear. She smiles broadly.

_Y siempre sueñas con luces  
Miras arriba  
Sientes la inercia de algo que tira…_

Rafa gets up and leads Mery to the ‘dance floor’. Thankfully it is a slow song, so they can do a slow dance. Everyone claps as they finish, with Maribel cheering loudly.

Rafa returns to his chair, sits with a glass of tea that Miguel hands him, and amuses himself by watching Maribel starting to dance exuberantly to ‘Rebeldes’. The song reminds him of someone, but he tries not to think about _him_ today.

_Nuestras niñas nos dejaron  
Y tú llegas el domingo  
Tanto tiempo  
Tanto tiempo…_

“Come on! Dance with me!” Maribel pulls Mery up from her chair and leads her to the middle of the room. Everybody starts clapping. Rafa laughs behind his hand.

_Estoy pegado hace rato  
Y mi brazo está morado  
Tanto tiempo  
Tanto tiempo  
No te veo…_

Rafa takes a sip of the tea and almost spits it out. Miguel must have been pretty drunk, to have put so much sugar in it. As he grabs a bottle of water to wash away that taste, his phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans. He had put it in silent mode, but had forgotten about the vibration. He unlocks the screen and checks it under the table. A message from Daniil. Rafa’s fingers turn cold. What does _he_ want? He hesitates for a few moments before opening it. It contains only two short sentences:

_See you in the new year. All the best for Davis Cup!_

Rafa stares at it, trying to find if there is something else, although he can see very well that that is all of the message. Just twelve words. What does he mean, ‘See you in the new year’? What about Madrid? He could find out himself, but better to ask Tomeu, who seems to know everything about everyone. He is sitting just beside Rafa, sipping champagne from a tall glass. Rafa lightly taps his shoulder. Tomeu leans over. “What?”

“Daniil is not playing?” Rafa asks in a whisper.

“Medvedev?” Tomeu whispers back. “The Davis Cup?”

Rafa rolls his eyes. “How many people do you know who are called Daniil!”

“I don’t know _anyone_ , but you might.” Tomeu smirks, ignoring Rafa’s glare. “He has withdrawn; says he is tired or something. Why?”

“Just asking.”

Rafa reads the message again. _How to reply to this? Does he expect something? Any answer at all?_ And what does being tired signify? If Rafa makes understatements, then what is that?

_Después del fin de semana  
Trabajando en la tienda es difícil…_

“The truth is,” Tomeu leans over again and whispers in Rafa’s ear, “Daniil always looks tired, but that must be just his face – he is very pale and has high cheekbones and -”

“I know how he looks!” Rafa hisses, rolling his eyes, though he can feel his cheeks becoming hot.

_Vemos desde arriba a todos  
Les robamos, sonreímos  
Tanto tiempo que llevamos escapando..._

A collective whoop from the people in the room interrupts their conversation. Rafa is just in time to see Maribel lift Mery a few centimetres from the floor, whirl her once and set her back down. Then they are both laughing, hugging each other, trying to steady themselves while everyone around them are whooping and whistling. Well, Maribel was always strong. And more headstrong.

_Si este pueblo no tiene salida  
Si esto es el resto de la vida  
Quiero estar contigo para siempre  
Oooh para siempre  
Dos personas nunca son iguales  
Oooh para siempre…_

Rafa types ‘Hope you feel better soon’ and hits send. It is a good reply, polite and formal and what should be expected of him. He stares at the screen for a few seconds. The message is sent, but not received. He turns off the vibration and puts the phone back in his pocket. Eternity does not seem that overrated after all.

**Author's Note:**

> (1) All the songs mentioned in this fic are by Chilean musician Alex Anwandter. The song which Rafa listens while cooking is 'Tormenta' and the one to which Rafa and Mery dance at Maribel's party is 'Como una estrella'. These two songs, together with ‘¿Cómo puedes vivir contigo mismo?’, ‘Rebeldes’ and 'Que se acabe el mundo por favor' are from his album 'Rebeldes' (2011). ‘Siempre es viernes en mi corazón’ and 'Cordillera' are from the album 'Amiga' (2016), and 'Latinoamericana' and ‘Canción del muro’ are from 'Latinoamericana' (2018). Whatever lyrics I have put in the fic are in italics.
> 
> (2) 'You are a better person than I am.' - This message from Roger to Rafa is from another fic. I cannot remember its name, or that of the author. If anyone can tell me, please do, then I can acknowledge the original writer!


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